Malfoy Manor
by L'alto
Summary: Malfoy Manor and its inhabitant may seem beautiful, but something dark is hiding within its depths...


_**Malfoy Manor**_

Harry sighed with relief as he saw the house looming above him. He had spent the better part of the past week trying to find some form of human life after a mission with the Aurors had gone particularly badly, leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere. The worst part was, he had lost his wand somewhere along the way, making him vulnerable and extremely helpless.

Finally, he had managed to find help.

What did it matter if help came in a form of his worst enemy, in a building at least ten miles from its nearest neighbour whose rooms still featured in half his nightmares?

 _Bienvenue. Je t'attendais._

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had died during the war almost ten years ago, and no one had seen Draco Malfoy ever since. There were rumours of people who had entered Malfoy Manor and had never come back out since, but the Aurors had been called to investigate these missing people cases and there was no proof to show that the victims had even entered Malfoy Manor at all.

Still, the rumours failed to die down. They said that Draco's ghost now roamed the halls of Malfoy Manor, calling for his lost childhood and the people who had stolen it from him. That he had mistaken the people who had entered his gates to be the Death Eaters who had stolen his childhood, and that they died a horrific death at his hands.

Harry said that it was all a load of tripe. This was _Malfoy_ , after all. Harry could easily imagine the same melodramatic git who had acted injured for weeks after the Buckbeak incident hiding in his house just to cause a sensation among the Wizarding world.

Walking up to the gates of Malfoy Manor, Harry rang the doorbell and waited patiently for its inhabitant to emerge. He didn't have to wait long: as soon as his finger touched the bell, the door of the Manor was thrown open and Draco Malfoy strode out, walking towards where Harry was standing at the gate.

Malfoy had changed since the last time Harry saw him almost ten years ago, Harry realised with a jolt. The thin, pointy boy he had been back at Hogwarts had been replaced with someone incredibly beautiful, almost unnaturally beautiful. His wide, silver eyes were set in a face with high cheekbones and a straight nose, and his silver-blonde hair almost glowed in the light of the full moon. He wore a robe as black as night, with a high, blood red collar, and the colour of his robes brought out the fairness, almost paleness of flawless skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. In short, Malfoy was nothing but perfect, and Harry was surprised by the lack of even a single physical flaw on Malfoy's perfect face. As Malfoy drew closer, his blood-red lips parted in a polite smile, and Harry gasped as he felt his heart stutter in response to that smile.

 _J'attendais pendant longtemps._

"Welcome to the Manor, Potter. Please do come in." Malfoy said in a voice smooth as silk, bowing slightly at the waist, and Harry smiled in return.

"If you don't mind, could I stay here for the night?" Harry asked earnestly.

Malfoy's smile never wavered: if anything, it seemed to grow even wider, showing pearly sharp white teeth. "Of course, Potter. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Now, please follow me."

Harry wondered at how much Malfoy had changed, not just in appearance, but in his mannerisms as well. When had the rude, cold boy he had known at Hogwarts transformed into this charming, charismatic being standing in front of him now?

Malfoy turned and started walking up the drive, and Harry hastened to follow. The last time he had been here, his eyes had been almost swollen shut with Hermione's spell, and so he had never gotten a chance to properly look at the Manor before. Malfoy Manor looked beautiful under the moonlight, almost ethereal, almost otherworldly, and Harry couldn't help but gasp at the unnatural beauty of it. The Manor was old, strands of ivy covering the grey bricks, and the windows of the house almost seemed like eyes staring right into Harry's soul, demanding he bare all his secrets. Harry shivered at the thought and couldn't help but remember the rumours about Malfoy and his house.

The rumours were rubbish, right?

So why did walking up the drive make him feel like a victim walking up to Dracula's castle?

No, scratch that. Harry was a _Gryffindor_ , and Malfoy was _Malfoy_ , and Harry would not be intimidated by him. No. Instead, Harry was a poor orphan boy, abused by his adoptive family, walking up to a magnificent castle to meet the handsome prince...

No, he knew how that story ended. And Harry had not been a poor orphan boy for a long while, and Malfoy was definitely _not_ the handsome prince Harry would end up marrying.

Except, Malfoy _was_ kind of perfect-looking now, and if telling himself he was walking up to a castle would make him feel less scared, then he would do it. No one needed to know.

As Harry amused himself with thoughts of a Dracula Malfoy (Dracola? Hehe...), Malfoy turned the ivory skull-shaped handle of the door and ushered Harry in with a bow and an extended hand, and Harry entered a hallway with marble floors and dark walls. Portraits lined the hallways, moving pictures of Malfoy's ancestors, who stared down at him with disapproval and a strange, almost hungry expression in their eyes. Strange urns lined both sides of the hallways, and lifelike paintings of moths and crows flew around the walls. Candles burned in candle holders along both sides of the hall, lending an eerie light to the whole picture.

Harry followed Malfoy down more hallways with walls of ebony and carvings of ivory, until he reached two rooms at the end of the corridor, with heavy wooden doors and the same skull-shaped handle as the one on the front door.

"The room on your left is yours, Potter, and mine is just to the right." Malfoy said, opening the door, and Harry entered a room that was elegantly furnished with the same black walls as the rest of the Manor. The curtain, too, was a dark red colour shot through with streaks of black, and in the middle of the room was a small bed, raised up on a small platform. The bed was fashioned such that the mattress was surrounded by high walls, and Malfoy laughed when Harry looked at him questioningly.

"I must apologise, I have always been afraid of wide open spaces, and I find that having walls surrounding me when I sleep helps. It gives me the impression that it is protecting me, that it is keeping out anything that might cause me harm. It keeps out the werewolves and the vampires at night." The corner of Malfoy's mouth lifted at his own joke.

Harry smiled in response. "It's okay, Malfoy. I understand."

Malfoy smiled back, a charming smile that made Harry's heart stutter once again, before producing a set of keys from seemingly nowhere and handing them to Harry.

"As I've said, you can stay as long as you want in Malfoy Manor, and as long as you are here, you can go anywhere you want in this house. However, there is one room you must never go to, and that is the dungeons. Never go there if you value your life, Potter."

At Harry's shocked look, Malfoy laughed. "It was a joke, Potter. The message, however, is serious. Never go to the dungeons as long as you are here: there are things in there that I do not wish you to see. Now, it's getting late, and I'm sure you'll want some rest. I'll leave you here tonight, then. Good night, Potter."

Harry changed out of his dirty clothes as soon as Malfoy left and lay down in the bed to sleep. The bed was small, with only just enough space for him to lie on his back, his limbs trapped by the walls surrounding him, and Harry shuddered. Having grown up in the cupboard, Harry had never been terribly fond of small, enclosed spaces, and lying still on the bed, surrounded by four walls, Harry couldn't help but feel like he was trapped, lying in an open coffin. Shaking his head to get rid of these paranoid thoughts, Harry closed his eyes and went to sleep, resolving to leave the next morning.

 _Tu ne me_ _partiras jamais. Tu ne partiras jamais Malfoy Manor._

Needless to say, he never did leave the Manor when morning came.

 **OoOoO**

The next morning, Harry woke up happy and contented, and he wandered downstairs in search of breakfast. He was surprised to see every curtain in the house drawn shut, the only light in the house provided by the candles now half burnt in their holders. Funny, he mused, how the house in the day looked no different from the house at night. He decided to open the curtains later and let in the natural light of day, once he had eaten and was no longer hungry.

He found Malfoy sitting at the dark mahogany table, looking once again a hundred percent perfect even though it was still early. He was still wearing the same black robe, leaving Harry to wonder if Malfoy ever changed his attire like a normal human being. He was sipping a dark, thick red liquid, and Harry sighed.

"Getting drunk, so early, Malfoy?" Harry asked, and Malfoy tipped his head up to look at him.

"It's a potion for my nerves, Potter." Malfoy replied, and Harry nodded guiltily.

"Right. Sorry."

A quick look around revealed that, just like everywhere else in the house, the curtains were drawn, and Harry moved to open them. However, before he even touched the curtains, Malfoy's lilting, melodic voice stopped him.

"Please don't open the curtains, Potter, I have...sensitive skin." Malfoy said, bringing the cup to his lips once more.

Harry blinked in surprise. So. He had been right. Malfoy's skin looked like it had never seen the sunlight, because it _hadn't_.

"How about when you were in Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Malfoy smiled sadly in response. "Oh, my...condition is a recent development. Now, breakfast?"

Harry nodded eagerly, and sat down for an unusual breakfast of roast lamb at Malfoy's mahogany dining table, surrounded by the candles glowing in the darkness of the room and rather disturbing paintings of gory scenes from Roman mythology on the walls.

 **OoOoO**

Breakfast turned into lunch, and then dinner, and soon it had been nearly a fortnight since Harry had stayed in the Manor. Malfoy was charming, witty, and utterly charismatic, a world away from the boy he was at Hogwarts, and Harry couldn't help but be utterly drawn to him.

Malfoy _had_ said that he could stay for as long as he liked, right? Well, he never wanted to leave.

 _Tu ne me_ _partiras jamais. Tu ne partiras jamais Malfoy Manor_ _._

However, despite Malfoy's utter charm, Harry couldn't help but notice the _sadness_ in Malfoy's eyes once he was no longer so smitten with his beauty. He noticed it whenever Malfoy did something absolutely charming that contrasted with his sad smile; he noticed it whenever Malfoy stared into the distance with a hopeless expression; he noticed it when Malfoy laughed and the smile didn't reach his eyes. Instead, his eyes were sad, with a tinge of regret.

Malfoy was _sad_ , and Harry wanted to make him feel better, wanted to make him smile with joy again.

Yet he didn't know why Malfoy was unhappy, and so there was nothing he could do.

 _Je suis désolé._

By the end of two weeks, Harry had explored nearly the whole of the Manor, with just the one exception of the dungeons, as he had promised Malfoy. He was a man of honour, a _Gryffindor_ , and he wouldn't betray his host's trust.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened while Harry stayed in the Manor, with a few exceptions: Malfoy never went out during the day, Malfoy never switched on any lights brighter than a faint candlelight while they were in the Manor, Harry continued to sleep every night in his coffin-like bed, and Malfoy seemed to have taken a liking to him, keeping him company every second they were awake.

 _Je t'attendais. J'attendais pendant longtemps._

Harry could almost believe that the rumours about the Manor were false.

 **OoOoO**

Things started happening almost two weeks after Harry first entered the Manor.

It started with the rattling noises Harry would hear coming from the dungeons when he walked past, and and the unexplainable scratch marks he found on the walls. Malfoy simply shrugged when Harry questioned him, though, so Harry simply shrugged it off as Malfoy's furry little problem. An angry cat, maybe?

(But what about the howls Harry sometimes heard at night, echoing through the corridors of the Manor? What if Malfoy's "furry little problem" was more similar to Remus' than Harry had known?)

It was followed by pools of Malfoy's dark red potion on the floor that looked and smelled too much like blood for him to be comfortable, and sometimes he would find some of Malfoy's potion ingredients that looked way too much like human body parts simply lying around. He gave these a wide berth: he _really_ didn't want to find out if he was right.

(Or if Malfoy's problem wasn't furry at all, but fanged and hungry for human blood?)

The portraits on the walls started to glare more fiercely; the crows fixed him with their small, beady eyes before cawing menacingly at him. More than once he thought he heard a growl coming from the direction of Malfoy's room.

(But that was ridiculous. It was _Malfoy!_ Charming, handsome, beautiful Malfoy. The Malfoy who had won Harry's heart with his grace and his charisma. He was safe. There was nothing there.)

Every time he felt unnerved, or felt like he wanted to leave, Malfoy was there, with his smiles and witty words, and Harry would find himself distracted from whatever he had noticed before. It was only after, once he was lying in bed preparing to go to sleep, that he would remember, and he would resolve to talk to Malfoy about his house the next day.

Yet he would forget about the incident until the next night, when he was once again lying in his bed.

He attributed the first few times to his own forgetfulness; the next few times it happened he couldn't be so sure.

The final straw came when he tried to leave the house to go to the lawn and was stopped by a loud caw from a crow, followed by the door jamming shut on its own, and a hat-stand that moved to block his way.

Harry was a Gryffindor, true, but courage didn't mean the absence of fear. He had been around magic since he was eleven, and was staring to get used to weird things happening in its presence, but he was starting to get really creeped out by the Manor. It was almost as if something was inside the Manor, something dangerous, something that didn't want him to leave-

Nonsense. The rumours were just that: _rumours_. There was nothing and no one else inside Malfoy Manor other than him and Malfoy. He was safe.

Right?

 **OoOoO**

There was another reason why Harry refused to believe that Malfoy Manor was haunted, another reason why Harry didn't want to leave.

Despite himself, Harry felt himself growing increasingly attracted to the handsome, charming man who kept him company every single day. He was no fool; he saw the hungry way Malfoy watched him when he thought Harry wasn't looking, and though it was sometimes a little unnerving to be watched by Malfoy like a deer was watched by a lion, he still felt the desire to possess, to consume, burning in his chest, and one day he found himself standing outside Malfoy's room, heart hammering wildly.

He knocked thrice on the door, barely aware of what he was doing, and the door opened to reveal Malfoy standing there, silver eyes narrowed in barely-concealed desire.

 _Je_ _t'_ _attendais. J'attendais p_ _endant_ _longtemps._

"I've been waiting for you, Potter. I've been waiting for a long time." That was his only warning before Malfoy was kissing him hungrily, and Harry gasped. The kiss was desperate, ravenous, and it almost felt like Malfoy was trying to eat him. Harry could even taste blood on his own lips-

Malfoy pulled back, horror and pain in his eyes, leaving Harry gasping for air. "Leave."

Harry started. "What?" He licked at the blood on his lips and grimaced in disgust, before looking at Malfoy in confusion.

Malfoy sighed. "Go to your room, before I do something I regret."

 _Je suis désolé. Je t'adore._

Harry shrugged, stung by the dismissal and the obvious rejection, and turned to walk back to his room. Apparently, he had read all the signs wrong.

Malfoy stopped him just before he opened the door.

"Potter. Push the dressing table in front of the door before you sleep tonight."

Harry looked at him quizzically, and Malfoy continued.

"You never know what's lurking out there in the dark on a night like this. The moon is full, Potter; danger runs amok. And whatever you do, do not leave your bed. Don't even sit up: lie still until the morning comes."

A chill ran up Harry's back at Malfoy's warning, made worse by the memories of growls in the dark and eyes staring at him as he walked, and he nodded dumbly.

 **OoOoO**

Harry was rudely awoken by the sound of a scream. Gasping in fright, he tried to grope at his bedside for his wand, only for his hand to encounter solid wooden walls. He stifled a frightened scream, hitting at the walls of his prison, his _cupboard_ , only to stop when he finally remembered where he was. Right. He was at Malfoy Manor, sleeping in his bed, and his wand had disappeared weeks ago. There was also the small problem of Malfoy Manor being haunted.

Another scream, and then there was silence. Compared to the scream, the silence was oppressive, unnerving: a dark, ominous mood had settled over the Manor. The light of the full moon shone into the room, lighting up the portraits and the crows staring at him from the walls with dark, hostile eyes. Harry lay still, heeding Malfoy's warning, but his body was tense and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

After a long, tense silence, where Harry's heart beat faster and faster and his breathing sped up, a hungry growl rumbled into the night, and the sound of padding footsteps, followed by the creak of a door handle, followed it. Harry forced himself to breathe normally, forced himself not to spring from the bed and bolt right out the front door. He was wandless, defenceless: it would not do to run straight into danger.

There was silence after that, and Harry felt like he could almost breathe again, until a growl suddenly sounded from right outside his door, followed by clawing sounds, and Harry had to stifle a scream. Whatever it was was _right outside his door_ , and there was nothing he could do. He was vulnerable, lying in his bed, and no matter what Malfoy said about the walls keeping out danger it still felt like he was lying trapped in his coffin waiting for death.

Harry was getting more and more convinced that the red liquid on the floor _was_ blood, and those "potions ingredients" _were_ human body parts _oh god he was going to die he was going to die-_

The clawing continued for some time, before they suddenly stopped altogether.

Harry almost sighed in relief, until the clawing was replaced by pounding. The door shook on its hinges in time with the pounding, and Harry swallowed a scream as he saw a crack appear in the door. Just as Harry was convinced he was going to die, the pounding stopped, only to be replaced by something even more sinister.

Laughter. Clear, tinkling, almost _child-like_ manic laughter, and a voice crooning his name.

"Harry, Harry, dear, let me in, or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll _blow you and this room to smithereens!_ "

The laughter continued for some time, before the footsteps slowly padded away again.

Harry spent the rest of the night awake in his bed, hearing ghostly wails and haunted howls ring through the hallways, and listening out for the return of the footsteps and clawing and the child-like laughter.

 **OoOoO**

Harry approached Malfoy where he was sitting at the table the next day. Malfoy was once again sitting at the same spot on the table, a goblet held to his lips, sipping what Harry was now almost a hundred percent sure was blood.

"Malfoy. I have to leave." He said, his voice almost pleading, and Malfoy turned to look at him.

 _Tu ne partiras jamais. Tu ne partiras jamais Malfoy Manor._

"You can't leave, Potter. You're mine." Malfoy said calmly, before continuing to sip at his potion (Blood?).

"Please, Malfoy. You told me to leave yesterday, now let me go." Harry pleaded, and Malfoy shook his head.

"The Manor is your home now, Harry. Why would you go?" It was the way Malfoy said his name, almost caressingly, _almost_ lovingly, that made Harry sob in terror and desperation. It reminded him to much of the-the _thing_ (Malfoy?) outside his door last night.

"Please, I'm begging you, you have to let me go." Harry begged, his voice cracking, but still Malfoy refused to budge.

" _Tu ne partiras jamais, mon amour."_ Malfoy replied, still with that same eerie calm, but this time his eyes were sad, and his voice was tinged with regret.

 _Je suis désolé.. Je t'adore._

 **OoOoO**

That night, after hours spent staring at the ceiling in fear as the howls and wails echoed through the halls, Harry decided to find out for himself what was happening inside Malfoy Manor. It was the unknown that people feared when they looked upon darkness, after all, and so Harry would find out what was going on.

Maybe, then, he wouldn't be so scared anymore.

The dungeons which Malfoy had forbidden him from going to would be a good place to start.

Putting on his Invisibility Cloak, he took out the set of keys Malfoy had given to him on the first day and walked as quietly as he could through the dark hallways towards the dungeons. The candles had almost burnt out, the flames flickering weakly in their wicks, and the darkness gave the paintings on the walls a threatening, hostile look.

Gulping, Harry walked towards the dark stone door of the dungeons, one foot placed in front of another as slowly as quietly as he could. Cobwebs stretched across the arch of the door, the decaying body of a fly trapped in the middle. A small black spider made its way slowly towards the fly, pincers clacking menacingly. The red liquid Harry had seen on the floors seeped from the crack below the door. Taking in a deep breath, Harry placed the key in the lock, pushed the door open quietly and stepped through it, wincing when he heard a loud creak.

He was standing in a puddle in a dark circular room, grey stone walls surrounding a cold stone floor stained dark red (with blood?). Silhouettes of the same urns that lined the entrance hall lined the walls, and each was filled to the brim. A small dark curtain covered a tiny window that Harry could guess was barred in the corner. On the floor, dark shapes slumped unmoving on the ground, and Harry sighed in relief, stepping completely into the room and shutting the door behind him. For a moment, he'd nearly thought that the room was haunted!

Then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he screamed.

The dark shapes on the floor were corpses of young men about his age, thrown haphazardly all around the room, every drop of blood sucked from their bodies. Some lay on their front, eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling, face forever frozen in horror. The funerary urns _were_ filled, with ashes (ashes of the dead? Ashes of the _victims?_ ). Harry looked down slowly, and nearly screamed when he realised just what the puddle he was standing in was (Oh god, it was _blood,_ wasn't it, he was _standing in the blood of the dead, oh god-)_.In the far corner of the room, hidden from Harry's sight by shadows, was Malfoy, his arms embracing another man whose blood Malfoy was slowly drinking through a hole in his jugular vein. As Harry watched, Malfoy finished off with a slurp and threw the body to the ground, straightening up slowly. He turned to look directly at where Harry was standing under the cloak and grinned, lips parting to show sharp teeth- _fangs_ \- dripping with blood.

"I can see and smell you, you know. You disappoint me, Potter. Why, I'd almost grown fond of you. I even let you go instead of finishing you off when you came to me the other night. That cost me dearly, made me even more hungry than I usually get when the moon is full. What a pity, Rupert here looked so promising, so _fun_ to play with, but I couldn't play around any longer after I let you go. I'm so _hungry._ On another note, _why_ do people _never listen_ when I tell them not to come to this room? I'd hoped you'd be different: apparently, you are not. I don't _want_ to kill you, you must understand, but I _have_ to do this." Malfoy smiled, a sad smile that nearly broke Harry's heart even as all his instincts screamed at him to run, and continued. "Now, Potter, give me three good reasons why I should not kill you, and if you...convince me, I will let you live."

Harry gulped in fright, shedding his cloak, and blurted out the first reason he could think of.

"We knew each other in school."

Malfoy laughed. "Yes, and we hated each other while we were there! What made you think that would convince me?"

"I'm the Chosen One." Harry cringed at the words that came out of his mouth: since when had he become so arrogant?

"What makes you think that will help?"

Desperate, Harry blurted out the last thing that came to his mind.

"I love you!"

The words hung in the air between them, and Malfoy laughed again, his voice tinged with sadness.

"If only you could, Potter, if only you could. But you can't, and you've wasted your three reasons, and I have to kill you now. Goodbye."

 _Je suis désolé._

Malfoy stalked towards Harry slowly, fangs bared and eyes glinting in anticipation of his next meal, as well as something else (regret?). It didn't matter: Harry was going to be in no state to think or care soon if he didn't do something _right now._

In desperation, Harry did the first thing he could think of: he darted towards the window and yanked the curtain open just as the first rays of dawn entered the dungeon and landed on Malfoy.

Malfoy gasped in horror, the expression frozen on his face as his porcelain skin took on a greyish hue and his movements came to a stop. A scream torn from his throat stopped abruptly as his throat and limbs seized up and he froze on the spot. The sunlight shone on his face as he turned to stone before Harry's eyes.

Harry sighed with relief and slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. Finally, he was free. He could leave.

Yet as he turned to leave, he looked back at the Malfoy statue, at the sadness he could still see in Malfoy's eyes, and he realised with a jolt that his last words to Malfoy rang true. He _did_ love Malfoy, loved the sad, frightened boy he saw underneath that cool, perfect facade, loved the _human_ he could see under the monster, and he realised that despite everything that had happened he still wanted to see Malfoy smile a happy, proper smile.

He turned back around and smiled at Malfoy's cold stone face. "You're wrong. I _could_ love you, and I do." With that, he leaned in and placed a kiss to Malfoy's stone lips, and everything happened at once.

 _Je t'adore._

A kiss woke Sleeping Beauty from eternal slumber. A kiss woke Snow White from her poisoned sleep. A kiss changed the Beast back into a prince, and that was all Harry could think of as the stone cracked into half and Draco stepped out from between the broken halves of the statue.

 _Draco_ , not _Malfoy_ , for he was different now. His unnaturally pale porcelain skin was now several shades darker, with a few freckles dotted across his nose, and his platinum blonde hair was messy and no longer so unnaturally white. His nose was slightly crooked, from where Harry had punched him back in third year (Harry had wondered how Malfoy's nose had miraculously straightened itself) and his high cheekbones and sharp chin now only served to bring out just how pointy he was. He was no longer handsome, rather average looking in fact, but the imperfections he now had only served to make him more beautiful in Harry's eyes, for they were proof that he was human.

Draco blinked a few times and squinted around at his surroundings, nose wrinkling in disgust, and he shuddered. "Salazar, I was a truly disgusting creature indeed." He said, and his voice had lost that weird melodic quality, becoming nasal and whiny and irritating and wonderfully _human_ once again.

He noticed Harry staring at him, and sneered. "I'm thankful you freed me, truly I am, but can we kiss and make up _after_ we get out of this hellhole? I don't know about you, maybe you enjoy making conversation in the middle of a room of rotting corpses, but I am a normal human being now and I would like to go somewhere that is not here, please."

Harry laughed giddily. Draco had lost that inhuman charm and politeness too, turning back into the sassy, sarcastic boy Harry had known back in school. Grasping Draco by the wrist, he dragged them out of the dank dungeon, down the dark halls of the Manor and out into the growing light of the dawn.

 _J'attendais pendant longtemps. J'attendais pour_ _liberté. Je suis libre._

 **Notes**

(Rough) Translation of French terms:

 _Bienvenue - Welcome_

 _Je t'attendais - I have been waiting for you_

 _J'attendais pendant longtemps - I have been waiting for a long time_

 _Tu ne me_ _partiras jamais_ _\- You'll never leave me_

 _Tu ne partiras jamais - You'll never leave_

 _Tu ne partiras jamais Malfoy Manor_ _\- You'll never leave Malfoy Manor_

 _Je suis désolé - I'm sorry_

 _Je t'adore - I love you_

 _Tu ne partiras jamais, mon amour - You'll never leave, my love_

 _J'attendais pour_ _liberté_ _\- I have been waiting for freedom_

 _Je suis libre_ _\- I'm free._

Fairytales mentioned:

Cinderella

Bluebeard

Rumplestiltskin

Sleeping Beauty

Snow White

Beauty and the Beast


End file.
